


What a Terrible World, What a Beautiful World

by JackEPeace



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: AUs that get out of hand, F/F, Mad Max AU, because why not?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-08
Updated: 2015-06-08
Packaged: 2018-04-03 10:37:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4097812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JackEPeace/pseuds/JackEPeace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"That's over now. We're never going back there. We're going to the Green Place." (AKA the AOS/Skimmons Mad Max AU that no one wanted)</p>
            </blockquote>





	What a Terrible World, What a Beautiful World

**Author's Note:**

> This story was obviously inspired by my abrupt and unexpected obsession with "Mad Max: Fury Road" and my apparent need to create a SHIELD/Skimmons AU out of every movie I ever watch. The title comes from the song "12/17/12" by The Decemberists.

What a lovely day. Not a cloud in the sky. The sun is white hot and vibrant. Just like it always is. Skye doesn't bother to look up. There's no point; nothing about the weather has ever changed.

In fact, nothing about anything ever changes. The only way to distinguish one day from the next is by the blessedly cool hours where the sun disappears long enough to give them just a bit of relief from the blistering heat and brightness. In those hours, the sand almost cools. Almost.

But it's certainly not cool now. Her feet are bare, thick with calluses to protect against the sand beneath her feet and Skye watches her toes as they sift through the sand, moving steadily forward. The tin bowl in her hands is starting to cook beneath the heat and her mouth is dry and scratchy, like she's been chewing on the sand all around her. All she can think about is the water and how she's going to do whatever it takes to get a bowl full today.

Skye doesn't mean for the sigh to escape but it passes her cracked lips anyway and her lets her eyes flutter closed as she thinks about the water and how it would feel to stand beneath the falls and let the water cool her skin and soak her hair and plaster her clothes to her body. Heaven.

Her feet know the way so Skye allows herself to remain lost in her daydream, shuffling along and holding her bowl to her chest. She can practically taste the water, feel the cool caress and-

Someone bumps into her and Skye's eyes fly open and she stumbles but manages not to loose her footing. There are dozens and dozens of people starting to crowd in all around her and Skye wants to roll her eyes at herself, wants to shake her head at her own childish thoughts. There will be hundreds of other people pushing and shoving, desperate for a mouthful of water and for the same opportunity to stand beneath the water. Skye squares her shoulders, narrowing her eyes and pushing forward. She might as well join the gathering group.

From where Skye stands now, she can see the Citadel looming in the distance, towering up toward the cloudless sky, an imposing figure in a wasteland of nothing but sand and heat. The tops of the buildings are green, covered with vines and leafy plants that don't exist anywhere else in the world, proof of the water that waits inside of the buildings. Skye can't even imagine what it would be like to live in such a place; the inside rooms are surely blessedly cool and it's only a few yards walk to water.

Of course, Skye understands that it's not nearly as perfect as it sounds. After all, the Citadel and the surrounding areas are crawling with soldiers and they look upon everything –men, women, children, food, water- like it belongs to them. Obviously this is something they learned from Immortan Whitehall, who controls the soldiers, the Citadel and the water.

And everything else.

Even as the Citadel gets closer, Skye can't see Immortan Whitehall or his right hand lackeys. All she can see are the soldiers and the others like her, pressing forward and clamoring for the water, though the mouth through which the water will pour is bone dry. Like everything else.

Skye can automatically tell that something is different about today. There are more soldiers moving around through the crowd, pushing aside the citizens as they move from where they are to where they're going. The air is full of chatter and noise and the smell of oil and gasoline, which stings Skye's nose and makes her furrow her brow. Even the people who normally don't care about anything but water are talking, whispering to one another and shoving those around them as they gesture toward something in the distance.

Skye elbows her way through, trying to figure out the cause for all the excitement and buzz. She finally pushes through the crowd, dropping her bowl and accidently kicking it forward.

Right into the leather boot of someone standing a few yards away. Skye freezes in mid reach, lifting her gaze toward the face that belongs to the boots. She knows enough to understand that anyone who wears shoes, especially shoes like that, is not the type of person that she really wants to butt heads with.

The woman is looking down at her already, her eyes cold and unimpressed. Skye's already scratchy mouth gets even drier as she realizes exactly who is standing in front of her. Imperator May, one of Whitehall's most trusted soldiers. Behind her, Skye can see the hulking metal monster of the war rig, baking in the sunlight. Suddenly, all the noise and excitement makes sense. Imperator May is going to be taking a run to Gas Town to replenish the fuel stores. And Skye just threw her bowl at her. Wonderful.

Skye inches forward, keeping her head down. May doesn't say anything to her, doesn't so much as twitch a muscle as Skye leans forward and picks up the bowl. She heaves a sigh of relief; she's seen the soldiers tear a person apart for less.

"Sorry." Skye whispers hoarsely, swallows around the dust in her mouth.

May's face remains impassive. "It's fine."

Skye figures that's her cue to turn and scurry back toward the rest of the crowd, forcing her way toward the front in hopes of getting some of the water. But she feels like she's frozen in place, staring past May at the massive rig. It towers over her, every piece of it designed for war and for eliminating anything in its path. The cab is attached to a long, slender tanker and the sides are spiked, as are the wheels, and the tanker has a smaller pod attached to the back of it.

May's face twitches in what might be amusement as she notices Skye staring. "Yes? Is there something else?"

Skye whips her head back in May's direction, her mouth opening and closing soundlessly for a few seconds. "You're…going to Gas Town."

Obviously this is why it's not a good idea to talk to anyone in Whitehall's army. Only stupid things come out of her mouth.

"Yes." May nods, crossing her arms over her chest.

Now would be a good time to nod and hurry away. Now would be the perfect time to shut her mouth and not open it again. Ever.

But still, Skye blurts out, "Take me with you."

May's face registers her surprise and Skye feels her eyes getting wide, surprised by the words at have left her mouth. "I'm sorry?" May questions, her eyes narrowing slightly.

"I…" Skye swallows, stepping forward. "Please."

May waves a dismissive hand at her, muttering something under her breath and turning on her heel, heading toward the rig. Skye gets the hint, really she does. Her stupid request isn't even worth justifying with a response and Skye knows that she doesn't deserve one. Really, what is she thinking? Asking an Imperator for anything?

But Skye has never been the sharpest blade in the armory, at least that's what she's heard her whole life. Definitely explains why she follows after May rather than losing herself in the crowd.

"Wait! Please!" Skye calls after her, grabbing onto May's arm before she can stop herself.

May turns around suddenly, snatching her arm out of Skye's grip, her hand narrowly missing slapping Skye across the face. She has a feeling that the near miss was very intentional.

"Don't be foolish." May snaps at her, taking a step back when Skye cringes, bracing herself for a better aimed smack. "Go join the rest of your people before Whitehall releases the water."

Skye shakes her head. "I don't have any people." She tells May, following after her when she starts to walk away once more.

"You won't find them in Gas Town."

"That's not important." Skye assures her dismissively. "I just…you don't understand what it's like here. All these people…and so little water…" She waves toward the gathering crowd helplessly, unable to find the right words that she needs.

This time when May stops, the look on her face is almost sympathetic. "I understand perfectly well." She assures Skye. "And things are not better in Gas Town, I can assure you. Stay here. Get your water. I don't have any more time for this."

May doesn't look at her as she speaks, doesn't bother with a parting glance as she leaves once more, moving toward a group of male soldiers. Skye sighs, wanting to kick herself for her foolishness. Honestly, she's such an idiot. Why did she even think that was worth a shot? Why did she think that Imperator May would agree to take her on the rig to Gas Town?

And why does she feel so disappointed that it isn't going to happen?

*~*~*~*~*~* 

Even without turning around, May can feel the girl's eyes on her, entreating, begging. It only makes her want to walk faster but she forces her strides to remain even, unbothered. It's not the first time that someone has asked her for help but May knows better.

Besides, she has more important things on her mind at the moment.

She stops a few feet from where Bakshi and some of the other soldiers are standing. She knows that a few of them will be serving as her escorts toward Gas Town but she knows that she can easily out race them if it comes to that. She's certain it will.

May turns her attention back toward the rig, studying the vehicle. She knows it better than she knows herself, or so it feels sometimes. Whitehall trusts her because she's always served him faithfully in the past and because no one can drive the rig like she can. Sending others on the trek to Gas Town has never ended up well for him and Whitehall is a man who learns from his mistakes.

May can feel the moods of the rig, the vibrations and shudders, she can read each one and understand exactly what the war machine is trying to tell her. She can sense things about it that no one else can. And right now, as she looks at the rig and the hollow bottom beneath the cab, she knows that she can see things that no one else does too.

The girl is still standing there, staring at the rig like she thinks it's going to surge to life or possibly like it's just going to swallow her whole. May isn't sure which she would find preferable. She understands how the girl feels, understands what she longs for better than she might suspect. But it's not May's problem. She can't help everyone.

"Look at that one." One of the soldiers says and it takes May a minute to realize that they're looking at the same thing. "Never seen that one before yeah?"

May turns her head in their direction; they don't notice her watching them. Bakshi squints against the sun, his eyes settling on the girl. "She is a lovely specimen." He agrees and May knows what the curve of his lips means. "The Immortan has been discussing increasing his stock."

One of the soldiers looks doubtful. "She just a citizen." He protests. "Look at her. Crazy feral."

Bakshi is, of course, already looking at the girl. "Let's let the Immortan decide that, shall we?"

May looks away, back toward the girl, who has finally given up staring at the rig and is starting to move toward the crowd. She knows that Whitehall will release the water in a matter of moments and the crowd will be busy fighting over a mouthful of water and the soldiers will be cheering and chanting her name, wishing her luck on her journey to Gas Town. She has only a small window to make her decision.

Thankfully, May has always been a quick thinker.

*~*~*~*~*~* 

Skye has the feeling that getting close enough to the water to even get any in her bowl is nothing more than wishful thinking now, thanks to her encounter with May. She has no one to blame but herself. After all, why did she think it was a good idea to waste time begging an Imperator for a favor than to elbow her way through the crowd and toward the water. Her stomach tightens and her throat feels even more parched than usual. Idiot. Complete idiot.

But, of course, it's not like she's not going to try.

Skye gives someone a shove, stepping on their toes as she tries to make her way through the crowd. The person grunts, protesting and calling her no small number of names as she hurries past but she ignores him.

Someone grabs her by the arm and Skye tenses, whirling around and brandishing her bowl, ready for a scuffle. When she finds herself looking into May's face, her mouth drops open and the bowl falls from her hand. "I'm-"

Before she can apologize for some imagined slight, May is jerking her forward, hauling her back through the crowd in the direction that they just came. "Hurry up." May commands, pushing her toward the rig.

"What…what are…" Skye stumbles but May's hold on her is so tight that she doesn't come close to falling.

"We need to leave." May doesn't look at her as she speaks.

Skye gapes, surprised. "You…you changed your mind?"

May sighs. "Unfortunately."

She pulls open the passenger side door of the rig and pushes Skye upward. Her bare feet scrabble against the side, her toes feeling for purchase before she's able to haul herself upward, dropping into the passenger seat. May slams the door shut and disappears from view.

In the side mirror, Skye can see Immortan Whitehall taking his place in the center of the cavern, surrounded by soldiers and by his right hand, Bakshi. Whitehall has a smile on his face, a pleased sparkle in his eyes. But an expression of disdain crosses his face as soon as he looks out at the gathering mass of people, all pushing and shoving and clamoring for water.

Suddenly, the side of the mountain opens up and water comes pouring out, flooding downward in a heavy stream. The people cheer and Skye presses herself against the side of the door, as though trying to get closer. Her body longs for the water and she presses her nails into her palms, suddenly desperate and regretting her decision to allow May to force her into the rig.

But Skye doesn't have to chance to do anything about it because the driver's side door is opening and May is getting into rig. She pulls her hair back into a tight ponytail, not looking over at Skye as she goes through the necessary procedures. Skye watches her work but her real focus is on the sound of the water behind them.

And the sound of the crowd, protesting and fighting as the water disappears again.

May starts the rig and the beast roars to life, growling and rumbling beneath Skye. Her eyes get wide and she tightens her grip on the edge of the seat. The twinkle of amusement in May's eyes quickly makes her feel completely foolish. "Ready?" May questions, teasing her.

Skye swallows and nods, forcing herself to relax, leaning back in her seat.

The air fills with a deafening cheer and Skye can see the faces of dozens and dozens of soldiers as they jostle and shove, desperate to be at the front of the line cheering May off. She leans forward, trying to peer out the window but May pushes her back, pressing her against the chair. "Try not to let them see you." She cautions.

Skye nods once more, forcing herself to be content to watch the soldiers and the Citadel disappear in the side mirror.

It doesn't take Skye long to figure out that May isn't much of a conversationalist. Her brief attempts at starting up some sort of a conversation are quickly dismissed; May seems perfectly fine with acting like Skye isn't sitting there at all. Even her attempts to introduce herself get no response. Instead, May keeps her eyes firmly on the road ahead, her hands wrapped around the steering wheel.

Skye spots another, much smaller, rig in the mirror, complete with soldiers riding on the top or hanging out the window. Immortan Whitehall definitely inspires a fanatic sort of loyalty; there are scores of soldiers willing to die for him, just to earn his attention for ten seconds.

"Why are they following us?" Skye questions, pointing toward the reflection in the mirror.

"Escorts." May replies without even looking behind them.

Skye looks at her curiously. "Why do you need an escort?"

May's eyes flick in her direction. "You haven't been very far from the Citadel, have you?"

"No." Skye shakes her head. "Why would I?"

May shrugs rather than answer that question. "Escorts are always a good idea." She says but there's something in her tone that suggests to Skye that she doesn't quite mean it. "There are plenty of things out there, across the wasteland."

Skye can't help but perk up slightly. "What sort of things?"

A bang from beneath their feet catches Skye's attention before May can answer and she glances over her shoulder, looking back. There's a hatch there that she didn't notice before and it suddenly strikes her as curious. "What…?"

"Are you always so full of questions?" May snaps and Skye flinches from the sudden sharpness in her voice. "I will leave you here for the soldiers if you open your mouth again."

Skye wants to think that she's kidding but…she decides to shut her mouth just to be on the safe side.

They travel along in silence for several miles and as they continue toward Gas Town, Skye can't help but notice that May seems to be growing more anxious, her glances behind them becoming more frequent. Her knuckles are white from where she's holding the steering wheel, her brow beaded with sweat.

Of course, Skye doesn't need another lesson about what happens when you ask too much questions.

Finally, May takes a breath, straightening her shoulders. "Here we go." She whispers to herself.

And then she turns the wheel, moving off the path they've been headed down since leaving the Citadel.

Skye sits up a little straighter in her chair, curiosity thrumming inside her. She glances behind them once more and can see the soldiers communicating, confused looks on their faces. Obviously this is not part of the plan.

"Where are we doing?" Skye questions, unable to keep herself silent any longer. "Why aren't we going to Gas Town?"

May looks at her, her expression tight. Skye can see a hint of worry in her eyes and it makes her shiver. "Just hold on."

The escort vehicle increases speed, trying to come along side them and May flicks a switch and the rig lurches forward, passing the other rig easily. She doesn't decrease the speed, doesn't slow down, doesn't change course. She simply presses them forward.

Skye shifts in her seat, glancing over her shoulder in an effort to see what's going on behind them. The soldiers are trying to catch up and a few of them have their weapons out, waving them in the air without the apparent intent to actually use them.

If she wasn't completely certain before that something was wrong, the firing of flares from the direction of the Citadel settles that idea in Skye's mind. She knows those flares: a call to arms.

Skye looks back at May. "What's going on?"

"I'll explain later." May says through gritted teeth, pressing her foot harder against the gas pedal. "Just…keep an eye on what's going on behind us, will you?"

Skye changes her position, pulling her legs up into the seat so that she can lean out the open window. The hot wind whips against her face, snatching her hair and kicking up sand but she ignores it, keeping her focus on the escort car. They seem to be getting closer and their demeanor has most certainly changed.

But that's not all that Skye notices: there are more rigs appearing on the horizon, coming from the direction of the Citadel. Bursts of fire appear in the distance and she can hear the roar of engines and the cheering and shouting of the soldiers, a sound that makes her blood run cold. Obviously they've smelled blood in the air and are in hot pursuit.

"There are more soldiers." Skye says, looking over her shoulder. "They're coming from the Citadel. Whitehall sent them. Why is he sending his soldiers after you?"

May doesn't answer. Her own gaze shifts toward the mirror and the growing number of cars appearing in the distance. Skye knows that it isn't going to take long for the vehicles to catch up. The war rig might be designed to withstand a beating but she knows there are plenty other rigs faster than this one.

Of course, that doesn't stop May from attempting to out distance them. Her expression doesn't change even as more of the rigs come closer and closer, close enough for Skye to smell the gasoline and the excitement in the air. "Why are they after you?" She says impatiently, gritting her teeth.

"I have something Whitehall wants." May answers simply, refusing to elaborate despite Skye's best efforts to pry the information out of her.

Something slams against the side of the rig and Skye bumps against the door, grateful that the window is rolled down. Otherwise she'd probably have a pretty unfortunate headache right about now. Before she can sit up again, something hits them from the back and Skye and May both knock against the unyielding objects in front of them. May grunts as the steering wheel column knocks the air out of her lungs and her eyes sting with tears. She pushes herself up right again, flicking another switch, urging the rig to go faster without blowing out the engines.

Skye pushes her hair away from her face, twisting around in her seat again to look out the window. One of the rigs is close and getting closer by the second. She can see the one of the soldiers hanging out the window has a chainsaw whirling in his hands and another is brandishing a pole tipped with a very sharp blade that Skye definitely doesn't want to be on the receiving end of.

Not that it really seems to matter before the soldier is hefting it to throw and his grin grows wide when he realizes Skye watching him.

But before he can throw it another soldier grabs his arm, smacking him across the face. "Fool!" He shouts, the wind and growling engines nearly snatching his words away. "You might hit the wives!"

The wives. Skye draws in a sharp breath, looking back at May. "The wives." She repeats, her horror growing. "You took the Immortan's wives!?"

May glares at her. "They aren't his." She spits, her muscles flexing as she shifts gears.

Skye shakes her head. "They're going to kill you." She whispers. It has yet to sink in that they'll probably kill her too.

A morbid sort of curiosity seizes hold of her and Skye leans out the window once more, unable to keep her eyes off the growing number of soldiers and rigs in pursuit. There's no way they're going to be able to out run them. No way they're going to withstand this assault.

One of the soldiers lifts a small crossbow, closing one eye in an effort to aim the weapon even as his rig bumps and jostles beneath him. He lets the bolt fly and it embeds itself in the side of the war rig, inches from Skye's face.

May grabs a fistful of her shirt, hauling her backward. "Stay inside." She commands. "And roll up the window."

Skye quickly does as she's asked, though she doubts that a rolled up window will provide a lot of protection for bolts and bullets. She glares at May, wrapping her arms around herself. Her heart is pounding wildly in her chest and she's starting to find it hard to breathe. The rigs are getting closer; the vehicles are continually butting against the war rig and she can hear the twangs of weaponry ricocheting off the side.

"I can't believe this." Skye says quietly, closing her eyes. "You were supposed to take me to Gas Town. You said we were going to Gas Town. And you took me with you even though you knew they were going to come after you and-"

"Quiet." May snarls, whipping her head in Skye's direction. "You didn't hear Bakshi but I did. They were going to add you to Whitehall's breeding stock. Is that what you want?" She questions. "Because I'm sure the offer still stands."

Skye looks at her, surprised. The idea of being one of his…wives…it makes her stomach turn and her skin prickle.

May nods at her. "That's what I thought." She reaches beneath the seat, tossing a pistol into Skye's lap. "You can use that, right?"

Skye looks down at the gun and then back at May. "I can figure it out."

"Good." May retrieves another gun, resting it across her legs. "We're going to need them."

As soon as the words leave her mouth, another bolt strikes the window beside Skye's head and glass explodes around them, cutting her cheek and shoulder. May looks at her and nods again and without having to ask, Skye knows exactly what she's being instructed to do. She picks up the gun, taking a deep breath and leaning out the window again.

May rolls down her own window, keeping one hand on the steering wheel of the rig and the other on the gun.

Ahead, she can see a storm. The sort of ferocious desert storm that Whitehall's best soldiers wouldn't drive into. If they can just make it that far, if they can make it into the storm…they might be able to lose the rest of the approaching army.

Skye braces herself against the window, ignoring the bite of glass against her palm. She aims the gun right as one of the rigs slams into the side of the war machine and her shot goes wild. The soldiers cheer, mocking her and waving their weapons. She can tell the one with the spear is dying to let it fly.

It seems impossible, more than impossible. There are over two dozen rigs in pursuit and all of them have loaded weapons and bloodlust in their eyes. They're never going to be able to out run them, to escape. May is crazy if she thinks that they have a chance.

Skye settles back into her seat, fully prepared to tell May all of these things but she stops when she sees the massive cloud in front of them, growing closer by the second. "What are you doing!" She shouts. "You're crazy!"

May smirks at her. "You didn't seem to mind when you were begging me for a ride to Gas Town."

Skye doesn't really know how to respond to that particular comment.

May leans back, taking her hand away from the gun long enough to knock on the door on the floor. Skye turns back, wincing as a bullet pings off the side of the rig. The door bangs open and a blonde head appears, her eyes narrowed and her cheeks red.

"May! What the hell is going on!" She snaps and then she sees Skye, her expression so comically surprised that Skye almost wants to laugh. Almost. "What-"

"Get down below." May commands, looking at Skye. "And don't open the door again until I give you the signal."

Skye doesn't hesitate. She has no idea what's down below but it has to be better than people shooting at her and a giant storm, getting ready to swallow them whole. Obviously she's about to die. She'd rather do it down below in the war rig than hanging out a window trying to shoot one of Whitehall's soldiers.

The blonde half helps, half yanks Skye through the door, slamming it shut behind them. The space below is dark; the cracks in the rig's siding let in a few beams of light and some of the hot, heavy air but Skye feels like she's going to suffocate from a mixture of the heat and the stale air.

The sound of Skye's ragged breathing mixes with the noise from outside: the roaring engines, the weapons hitting against the side of the rig. She tries to force herself to calm down, to let her breathing even out, attempting to take in her surroundings. The blonde woman isn't the only person down here. Of course, it makes sense. The wives.

Skye can count five of them all together, each one watching her skeptically, distrustfully in the dim light. She ignores them, drawing up her knees and resting her forehead against them. She doesn't really feel much like talking about the moment.

It comes a surprise when the body closest to hers rests a hand on her shoulder and Skye lifts her head, brow furrowing. The other woman doesn't say anything and Skye can't see her well enough to make out the expression on her face but there's something about her touch, the simple gesture, that makes her want to relax, that makes it easier to settle her breathing.

Of course, the fear quickly returns when the sunlight around them disappears and the wind grows hotter. The sounds of the other rigs is replaced by the roar of the storm around them and the bottom of the war rig brightens only when lightning flashes. They're in the heart of the storm and Skye isn't honestly sure that they're going to make it out. The rig is rocking, leaning dangerously from side to side as it's buffeted by the wind.

No one speaks or moves. No one bothers to offer a comforting or positive word. All they can do is wait.

*~*~*~*~*~* 

Skye lifts her head, feeling groggy in the way that comes from being not quite asleep but still being woken up, squinting against the sudden brightness. Not that the space beneath the rig is by any means full of light but it's a definite change from the last time she looked. The storm is gone, if the quiet and stillness around them is any indication.

The door above them squeals as its wrenched open and Skye squints against the stream of light that floods the space. May's face peers down, assessing their condition briefly before disappearing and making way for them to move out of the space.

The blonde goes first, turning back to grab their hands and pull them forward. Skye stumbles down and out of the rig, nearly falling to her knees after so much time being cramped up in a small space. She finally decides to stop fighting the urge, sinking down into the hot sand below her, letting her eyes adjust to the familiar glare of the sun.

She watches as the other wives emerge, allowing themselves to adjust to the brightness as well. The blonde Skye already knows; she's tall and as fierce as she is beautiful. Not that Skye would expect anything less from one of the women Whitehall would have selected for his breeding stock.

A redhead slides out of the rig, studying her surroundings with narrow-eyed focus. A short, willowy woman follows suit and her eyes settle on Skye, offering her a shy sort of smile. Skye has a strange suspicion that this is the woman who tried to comfort her beneath the rig.

The fourth of the wives has dark skin and her brand –Whitehall's sigil- stands out against her shoulder, looking almost as angry against her skin as the woman herself. The final wife to emerge from the rig is so pregnant that Skye is certain that she's about to give birth at any second. She allows the blonde to help her down into the sand before letting her hands encircle the swell of her belly, a gentle gesture that somehow strikes Skye as odd, though she doesn't know why. She's seen plenty of pregnant women out in the desert around the Citadel but none of the pregnancies ever come to fruition.

May turns back, lowering the binoculars that she's been using to scope out the area. "We should be able to rest here for a while. Regroup." She tells them, tossing the binoculars into the cab of the rig. "I think we lost them in the storm."

"Crazy driving, May." The blonde remarks, a wry smile on her lips. Her eyes flick toward Skye. "Who's the stowaway?"

May lazily makes introductions, pointing to each of the wives in turn. Bobbi, the blonde with fire in her crystalline eyes; Akela, the dark-skinned woman who regards Skye without much interest; Natasha, the redhead with a small, silver scar across her eyebrow; Raina, the woman heavy with pregnancy and Jemma, who is leaning against the side of the rig, taking in her surroundings with far more interest than the rest of them are showing.

"I thought…didn't Immortan Whitehall have six wives?" Skye questions, looking at them curiously.

Akela scowls, spitting into the sand at their feet, no doubt at Skye's terminology.

"Kara." May frowns, looking back across the endless stretch of desert behind them, back the way they came. "She stayed. She's loyal to Whitehall."

Skye gives them a look. "She betrayed you."

"She won't do that." Bobbi tells Skye fiercely, shaking her head.

"It doesn't matter." May interjects before the conversation can get anymore heated. "Whitehall wouldn't need Kara to tell him anything. As soon as we changed course, he would have grown suspicious."

Natasha kicks at the sand, shaking her head as she walks back toward the rig. "They aren't going to stop looking for us." She remarks, moving around toward the side. "It's stupid to stay here."

May watches her, her face as expressionless as possible. "We have a bit of a lead. We can rest for a while. And I need to clear the sand from the rig."

Natasha offers no comment, focusing her attention on twisting a spigot on the side of the rig. She uncoils a small hose and Skye watches in surprise as water comes rushing out of the nozzle. Natasha drinks from it lazily, splashing some against her face, seeming content to let it pool into the sand at her feet.

No one seems bothered by this, moving over to join Natasha, taking their turn at the hose. Raina lets the water run across her face and shoulders, soaking through the fabric of her thin dress, making the swell of her stomach look even more pronounced.

Jemma seems to hang behind, gesturing toward Skye when she finally catches her eye. "Come on." She urges, seeming amused by the fact that Skye is just sitting there in the stand, slack-jawed. "It's okay."

Skye pushes herself to her feet, moving over to join her. Jemma's brow furrows in concern as she looks at Skye. "You're hurt." She brushes her fingers against the cut on Skye's cheek and she flinches back instinctively. There's not a lot of gentle or unnecessary touching among the people outside the Citadel.

Skye shrugs, turning her face away. "It's nothing." She assures Jemma. "Just some glass." She keeps her fingers curled against her palm so that Jemma can't see the cut there too.

When Jemma turns around, facing Raina and the others with the hose, Skye can see the angry red welts of the brand against the back of her neck. Obviously it's fresh and it still looks like it hurts, probably more than the cut on Skye's cheek. Skye has seen the brand before, the skull sitting on a bed of tentacles, marking things as Whitehall's property. She looks around and all the women have one, even May. Suddenly their death-defying race from the Citadel doesn't seem quite as crazy.

Jemma holds out the hose to her, looking at Skye expectantly, amused by her hesitation. Not that it really matters. The second she's that close to the water, Skye can't help herself. She cups her palms, letting the water run across her skin, cooling her. She doesn't know if she wants to drink it or splash it against her face, unsure of which will feel better. In the end, she does both, sucking at the water as it runs down her face, hardly caring how she looks to the other women gathered around. She doesn't doubt that they've had plenty of water at the Citadel.

Finally Skye's stomach feels round and swollen with the water and even though it seems stupid to turn away from the hose, she doesn't think she can possibly drink anymore. Something she never, ever thought would happen. She drops back down into the sand, sitting beside Raina and Akela. She finds herself watching Jemma as she takes her turn at the house, drinking and splashing the water across her face. Skye's eyes follow the drops that curve down the slope of her jaw and neck and she turns away, embarrassed by her staring.

Instead, she finds herself staring at Raina and the swell of her stomach. "The Immortan must be really mad that you escaped." She remarks. "Since you're pregnant with his son."

"It's not just his child." Akela interjects, eyes narrowing. "None of us are his. Her child isn't either. We aren't things."

Skye nods, remembering the sudden shock she'd experienced at seeing all of them branded, like property.

"It's a girl." Raina says, almost conspiratorially, smiling at Skye as she rests her hand against her stomach.

"How do you know?" Skye questions skeptically.

Raina shrugs. "I just know." She assures her. "She's the daughter of a warlord and she's my child. She will become something great. At the Green Place."

Skye's eyes get wide and she glances over her shoulder, looking toward May. "What's the Green Place?" She asks, though her question quickly becomes put to the whole group, as May is busy talking with Bobbi.

"Exactly what it sounds like." Jemma says as she comes to join them, sitting down beside Skye. There's a damp scrap of fabric in her hand and she presses it against the scratch on Skye's cheek, not giving her the chance to shrug off her help again. "A place where there's water and plants and…life. Far away from the Citadel."

Skye's eyes go wide and she looks past Jemma toward Raina and Natasha, neither of whom offer further comment or seem surprised by Jemma's words. "What?" Skye questions, her eyes flicking back toward Jemma. "That's crazy. Such a place doesn't exist."

"Yes it does." Akela says and Skye can feel her eyes boring into her back. "May has seen it. She's from there."

Skye turns her head away from Jemma's doctoring, looking back over her shoulder at May. "How do you know?" She asks softly.

"We trust May." Natasha says simply, getting to her feet and brushing the sand off her legs and arms. "That's all we need to know."

Furrowing her brow, Skye returns her attention toward Jemma. "Do you believe in this Green Place?" She asks, certain that her tone still betrays her skepticism.

"We other choice do we have?" Jemma questions, giving Skye a pointed look. "We couldn't stay there. Not with Whitehall and…" She trails off, a fearful look crossing her eyes.

It's the faraway look that Skye recognizes from the desert, the dead-eyed thousand yard stare of someone who can't stop remembering something horrible that they saw. Skye doesn't have to be particularly imaginative to wonder what is plaguing Jemma's thoughts. Whitehall isn't the only person to use a woman against her will.

"That's over now." Bobbi says firmly and all attention turns toward her. "We're never going back there. We're going to the Green Place."

Her eyes remain on Skye when she says this, as though feeling like she in particular needs this reminder. Skye looks away, staring down at the sand. She might not believe that this Green Place exists but there's no denying that it sounds completely perfect. She wants it to be real.

"Let's go." May's voice calls out to them and she's already pulling herself back into the cab of the rig. "Let's put some more distance between us and them."

Thankfully they don't have to get back into the hole beneath the war machine. The back seat is definitely cramped with all of them crowded back there but it's preferable to being squeezed down below. Bobbi sits in the front seat beside May and the gun looks more natural, more comfortable, sitting in her lap than it felt in Skye's hand.

They cross stretches of desert in silence; the only sound comes from the rig, growling and rumbling along. Skye peers out the window, watching the sand pass by; everything looks the same, there's nothing but sand and sand and more sand and look, sand dunes. She has no idea how May has any idea where they're going but there's something oddly freeing about following suit with the rest of the wives and just deciding to trust her to get them to where they're going. Skye's never had anyone else take control in her life, not since she was very little. Before her mother died and her father disappeared and then the only thing she really knew was the need for water and that being small didn't mean that people would feel sorry for her.

Skye leans her head back, feeling the metal humming and vibrating against her. Jemma is sitting beside her, her eyes half-closed, lulled by the movement of the rig and the heat of the day. Akela and Natasha are silent, clearly trying to make the best of being crowded out of their space but Raina and her large belly. When Raina notices Skye watching her, she gives her a smile like she knows much more than she's willing to let on. "It won't be long now." She says.

"Until what?" Skye questions, aware of the way that Natasha and Akela exchange a look and an eye roll.

"The baby." Raina tells her. "She's going to be born in the Green Place."

Skye just nods, unsure of what else to say. "Are we…far…?" She can't bring herself to actually say the words, to give voice to this idea, this Green Place. It sounds like the perfect way to be totally disappointed.

"Far enough." May says from the front seat. "And I'd prefer that baby not be born in the rig."

Raina smirks, turning her attention out the grim covered window. She strokes her fingers lazily across the curve of her stomach and Skye feels that same morbid curiosity rise in her that she felt when they were being chased and fired upon by the other rigs. "Are any of you pregnant?" She questions, looking at the other wives. "Other than Raina?"

"I've been pregnant before." Bobbi says, almost dismissively and there's something in her tone that suggests that further information shouldn't be requested. Skye figures that it's probably for the best that she shouldn't ask about the babies.

"There's no Immortan in the Green Place." Natasha says. "It doesn't matter what was before."

Skye thinks over this idea, tries to picture this Green Place in her mind. The only green she's ever seen is that kind that grows on top of Whitehall's Citadel. "Who controls the water?"

The other girls laugh, even May, and Skye wrinkles her nose, trying to ignore the sting of embarrassment. "No one." Jemma says gently, sleepily.

Skye looks at her, surprised. She'd been sure that the other woman was asleep. "No one controls anything." She continues, a lazy smile one her lips, her eyes still closed. "There's water for everyone."

Skye makes a sound that borders on thoughtful and noncommittal, nodding just to be polite. This place sounds like a fairy tale. Then again, who is she to say?

*~*~*~*~*~* 

They stop once it gets dark and even though Skye can tell that Natasha and Bobbi are anxious, displeased with the delay, she's more than happy to put her feet on sandy ground once more. The sun is gone, leaving them with nothing but a sky blazing full of stars.

"We need rest." May says in a tone that suggests that there will be no argument. "A few hours, then it's back in the rig."

They sit around in a half circle, taking turns drinking from the hose once more and splitting up the rations that May was able to sneak away for her 'trip to Gas Town.' Even though it's nothing but dried meat and hard bread, Skye is pretty sure that she's never had anything so delicious. It's strange to feel truly full.

May climbs back into the rig, obviously more comfortable sleeping behind the wheel than out in the sand like the others. Raina, Bobbi, Natasha and Akela all eventually spread out, finding their own space to curl up for the night. Skye is feeling the heavy weight of exhaustion starting to settle over her body but Jemma doesn't seem to be in a hurry to head off to sleep so, for whatever reason, Skye finds herself lingering.

"It's hard to see all these stars from the Citadel." Jemma remarks, tipping her head back to stare into the velvet sky above them. "Immortan Whitehall always had fires burning, like he was afraid of the darkness."

"What was it like, living in the Citadel?" Skye questions, unable to keep her curiosity from getting the better of her.

Jemma looks at her, her smile disappearing. "Awful." She says softly. She lifts her hand, brushing her fingers against the ugly mark on the back of her neck.

"The Green Place…" Skye starts but trails off, unable to find a way to finish her sentiment. She's not used to playing pretend, not used to imagining things that aren't there. She's surprised she even brought it up; the heaviness in Jemma's eyes was starting to weigh heavy in her chest too.

Jemma offers her a tentative smile, an effort. "Yes, the Green Place." She agrees, nodding. "You'll see, Skye."

Skye doesn't say anything, trying to allow herself to be convinced by the conviction in Jemma's tone.

They stay in silence like that for a while, staring up at the stars and enjoying the still and quiet of the night as it settles around them. Skye likes the feeling of Jemma beside her, her comforting and even presence. When she looks over at Jemma, she's surprised to find that the other woman is already studying her. Skye clears her throat and quickly looks away again.

"What…er…what are you most looking forward to about the Green Place?" Skye asks mainly because it feels strange to continue sitting here in silence, almost as though Jemma has just been waiting for her to speak.

"That's easy." Jemma says simply. "Choice."

Skye looks back, surprised. That's definitely not something that she would have thought about but…she does have to admit that it sounds pretty great now that she thinks about it.

*~*~*~*~*~* 

There's nothing to do in the rig but sit in silence, roasting in the heat of the day as the sun grows higher and higher in the cloudless sky. Sometimes they alternate position, playing a strange sort of shuffling game that doesn't seem to leave them with any more space or comfort than they had before. The person riding lookout in the front seat with May obviously has the best end of the bargain but Skye doesn't mind the close quarters when she's able to say pressed thigh to thigh and shoulder to shoulder with Jemma. She doesn't know why it matters but it suddenly seems really important.

Choice, Skye thinks, repeating Jemma's response to her question in her mind. What would she do if she had a choice, if she didn't have to fight and shove and push for water, if there was time for anything other than fighting for survival all the time. She's never thought about it before but she can feel the answer in the back of her mind, starting to claw its way free very, very slowly.

It's all too easy to let herself be lulled by the movement of the rig and the heat and the pressure of Jemma squeezed against her side, to be soothed by the idea of this Green Place and the moment when everything will become perfect and normal and when the life that she's always known will change.

She's nearly asleep when the rig suddenly jerks to a halt and Skye's head snaps up, nearly butting against Jemma's as it does the same. They don't have time to be flustered or embarrassed by the fact that they were laying on one another, half asleep.

"What's the matter?" Natasha questions, sounding more agitated than confused. "Why are we stopping?"

"It's the rig." May replies, forcing the gear shift into park and throwing open the door. "Engine's overheated."

Akela leans out the passenger side window, frowning as she scopes out the horizon. "Can't see any of the soldiers." She remarks.

"It doesn't matter." May informs them from down below. "We aren't going anywhere until the engines cool off."

There's no point in staying cramped up in the rig and despite the heat and blistering sand, it's a relief to be able to stand up straight again, to stretch and move. Skye watches as May fills a few plastic canisters with water, hanging back until she's certain that May isn't going to mind if she takes a few sips from the hose. No one seems to mind when she has some of the water, which is something Skye can't quite wrap her head around. There's no squabbling, no pushing and shoving, no hitting and kicking. There's enough water for all of them.

After Skye's mouth is no longer dry and her clothes are sticking to her skin from the water rather than the heat, she heads back around the other side of the rig, her eyes scanning the dunes of sand around them. Bobbi is helping May cool the engines while Akela keeps watch on the horizon, which is as blessedly still as it was earlier. It's quiet out here, almost peaceful. Almost easy to pretend like there's nothing wrong, like there's nothing to run from, like this Green Place might really be real.

And Skye can see Jemma, shuffling off through the sand, her sandals kicking up little miniature storms as she goes. Her shoulders are hunched forward, her head bowed and Skye is curious about what sort of mission has her wandering away from the rig.

"Hey." Skye says once she catches up with Jemma, hoping that she's not intruding on some solitary task. "What are you doing?"

Jemma looks over at her, a mischievous sort of smile on her face. She shows Skye what she's been carrying: a mesh bag full of little round things, some in packets, some in glass vials, some rolling free at the bottom of the bag.

"Seeds." Skye breathes out, surprised. She looks up at Jemma. "Where did you get them?"

"I stole them." Jemma explains easily. "From Immortan Whitehall. There are plenty of green things back at the Citadel: fruits and vegetables…I figured he wouldn't miss any."

"It's not the seeds that he's missing." Skye points out and Jemma shrugs. "What are you doing with them?"

Jemma scoffs, giving Skye a look. "I'm going to plant some, of course." She remarks. "Most of them will be for the Green Place because there's much more of a chance that they'll grow out there. But…a few here and there can't hurt."

Skye doesn't protest this logic, isn't really sure how. She doesn't know anything about seeds or how to grow them and Jemma definitely seems capable, her fingers sure and certain as she sticks them down into the sand, making small little holes. She drops the seeds inside and then covers them back with sand. "We'll have to get some water from the rig." She says dismissively, clearly in no hurry to do such a thing right now.

They sit there in the sand with the newly planted seeds between them, the wind already blowing away the traces of Jemma's handiwork. Skye thinks that if they don't get the water now they might forget where they've buried the seeds at all, but she doesn't exactly feel the pressing urge to leave and hurry back to the rig either.

Instead, Skye looks over at Jemma; the sun is already starting to color her features, making her skin pink. Soon she'll start to burn, they all will. But right now, the hints of pink across her cheeks just give her an look of excitement.

"How did you…" Skye finds herself starting to ask before she can convince herself that it's really a terrible idea to even bring it up. "How did you become one of the wives?"

Jemma frowns, her eyes darkening. "Whitehall took me from my family when I was little. He kept me in the Citadel until I was old enough."

Skye worries her bottom lip between her teeth, feeling like she's suddenly unable to look away from the mark on Jemma's neck. "But…your burn…it looks new…"

"I am new." Jemma tells her, her hand resting against the nape of her neck, covering the mark. "He had to brand me, make sure everyone knew I was his new wife." She spits against the sand, the way that Skye had seen Akela do the day before.

Skye shakes her head. "Not anymore." She assures Jemma. "You're done with all of that."

Jemma looks at her and even though Skye can see her trying to smile, her eyes are too sad. "But everyone will know about me…about us." She lowers her hand from the brand, shaking her head. "They just have to look at us and know…it's ugly." She whispers, grabbing a fistful of sand and letting it run out between her fingers.

"It's not." Skye assures her, surprising even herself by reaching up and resting her fingers against the brand. Jemma's skin is rough and raised here, hotter to the touch. She has the strange urge to let her fingers travel across her shoulders and arms, to feel the contrast.

Jemma's eyes fill with surprise but she doesn't rush to shrug away Skye's touch, doesn't push her hand away. Instead she just lifts her hand again, settling it over Skye's. It's nice, Skye thinks, to be touched so gently.

"I heard Bobbi and Natasha talking last night," Jemma says, finally letting her hand fall away from Skye's, "about why May brought you with her. Why did she?"

Skye shrugs, taking her hand away from Jemma's neck as well. She flattens her palm against the sand, burying her fingers beneath the grains until she finds where it's cooler down below. "I asked her to take me to Gas Town. I thought…well I thought that anything had to be better than living outside the Citadel." She has a wry smile on her face as she shrugs again. "I didn't expect to be chased by soldiers."

Jemma looks at her curiously. "Sorry to wanted to come along?"

"No." That's an easy question for Skye to answer. "Anything is better than living outside the Citadel."

And with Jemma and the others and the promise of this Green Place, the possibility of it…Skye could never regret asking May to take her along.

*~*~*~*~*~* 

The sun starts to settle below the horizon but they don't stop, not yet. May is clearly trying to make up for the time lost when they had to wait for the engines to cool but Skye no longer feels the stifling feeling of impatience, of worry, that's settled over her since they first left the Citadel. They haven't seen any other rigs, any other living things, out here since they lost Whitehall's soldiers in the storm and it's all too easy for Skye to forget why they're having to run in the first place.

"Soldiers." Raina's voice is so soft that it takes Skye a moment to even process the fact that she spoke, let alone what she said.

The word seems to settle over them all at once and suddenly the rig is electric and Skye can almost taste the coppery tang of fear on her tongue. She leans against Jemma, trying to peer around her out the window to see what Raina has seen.

It takes her a moment to see it there, a blur on the horizon. It looks like nothing but then she realizes…smoke, exhaust. Approaching vehicles.

"I told you they weren't going to give up." Natasha says almost dismissively, like she can't be bothered with this particular fact. She's sitting in the front with May and she doesn't bother to stick her head out the broken window.

"It doesn't matter." May says firmly, returning her eyes to the desert in front of them. "We still have some distance on them. We just need to keep it that way."

Skye frowns, swallowing back the urge to protest. She remembers their initial escape from the Citadel, how quickly the other rigs had closed the distance between the vehicles.

"And then what?" Akela questions. "We're just going to keep going until we lead them right to the Green Place? Whitehall will want that for himself too."

"No." May snaps, shaking her head. "We have to pass through a cavern, a canyon. We'll use the gasoline in the pod and the tanker to blow the rocks to close the path."

"Then we can't turn back around." Raina says tentatively. "What if the…the Green Place…"

"It doesn't matter." Bobbi shakes her head. "We're not going back."

Despite the vague plan that May has in place, the tension doesn't leave the rig, hanging as heavy over them as the heat. They seem to be keeping steady pace with the rest of the rigs; no one seems to be gaining or losing any ground. Maybe, Skye thinks, maybe.

The sun disappears completely and May doesn't turn on the lights, unwilling to give their pursuers even that advantage. The lights continue to blare from the other rigs, a steady sign that they're still being followed, that they're going to continue being followed until they've been run aground.

Unfortunately, May's decision against turning on the lights quickly turns against them. The ground suddenly turns from hard-packed, stable sand to something else. Something that sucks up around the wheels, holding them in place no matter how hard May slams on the pedal or how much smoke begins to seep up from beneath the hood.

"Everyone out. Now." May says gruffly, throwing open the door and dropping to the ground.

Skye follows after Jemma and Akela, surprised to find herself ankle deep in muck and slimy mud. She stares down at her feet, shocked. To have mud you have to have water…Whitehall had always sworn to his people that there was no water anywhere else in the wasteland. Nothing but sand and sand and sand. And even though there's no usable water around them now, there definitely was once. Maybe this idea of the Green Place isn't so far off after all.

Jemma tries to move forward, stumbling and nearly falling backward, unable to free herself from the mud around her ankles. Skye reaches out, putting a hand against the small of her back before she can fall backward into the mud. She lets Jemma brace herself against her, pulling against the muck until she manages to wrench her ankles free. Her sandals appear to be lost, mired too deep to even consider retrieving.

Jemma gives her a grateful smile as they make their way through the muck toward the rig, which is as deeply mired in the mud as Jemma's shoes. May lets out a curse, grabbing a handful of mud and slinging it across the swamp. Behind them, the lights of the war rigs continue to burn, growing steadily closer. And they're frozen in place.

"We need something to brace the tires." Jemma says, walking over to study the wheels. "A wedge."

"Where are we supposed to find a wedge?" Raina retorts. "In the middle of this wasteland?"

But May is already moving forward and Skye watches her, intrigued. She grabs onto the side of the war rig, pulling at one of the protective sheets of metal bolted to the side. Skye hurries over to help, tugging and pulling as hard as she can, trying not to think about the approaching soldiers. The others join, even Raina, and they manage to wrench the sheeting free, though Skye is pretty sure that the sound it makes is enough to alert the soldiers of their presence.

They wedge the piece of metal beneath the wheels, trying to create a clear path between the muck and the rubber. May gets back into the rig, gunning the engine but the wheels only continue to spin, unable to find traction even with the piece of metal bracing the rig.

"They're getting closer." Natasha says unhelpfully, watching the lights in the distance. "We need to arm ourselves."

"Keep trying." May calls from the cab, jamming her foot down again.

Jemma grits her teeth, forcing her weight against the wedge, trying to jam it down beneath the wheels. Skye stands beside her, lending what little strength she can, turning her face away from the mud spinning out from beneath the tires.

Still nothing happens. Jemma curses, stepping back and burying her face in her hands. "This isn't working!"

"It's okay." Skye says uselessly, pressing against the sheeting, praying that something goes right. "It's going to work."

Jemma lifts her head, meeting Skye's eyes. There's a fervor there that Skye worries might ignite her. "We aren't going back." She says firmly, taking a breath and seeming to settle herself. "Keep pushing here. We need…we need…"

Before Jemma can finish her proclamation of what they need, she wanders off toward the front of the rig, leaving Skye standing by the sheeting with Raina and Bobbi. With little other choice, they continue pushing and Raina kneels down, digging through the mud, trying to move it away from the wheels.

"This is what we need!" Jemma calls from the front of the rig and Skye can hear Natasha and Akela's voices as they hurry to help Jemma, desperate for something, anything, that will work. "We just need to take this here and tie it to something."

Skye abandons her efforts to force the wedge beneath the wheels, watching as Akela takes the thick metal cable from the front of the rig, uncoiling it and hurrying across the muck to wrap it around the thin trunk of a skeletal tree. It hardly looks like it will be any help in freeing the rig but now is hardly the time to argue the little options that they do have.

Once the cable is secured, Jemma and Akela hurry back to join the others, resuming their effort with the wedge while the rig continues to strain and vibrate above them.

"Stay here." Jemma says decisively, looking at the wedge. "Bobbi, come help me."

They disappear around to the back of the rig as Akela and Natasha help Skye continue to jam the useless piece of metal beneath the wheels. She has no idea what Jemma and Bobbi are trying to do but it doesn't seem to be making a difference.

Until all of the sudden the wheels lurch forward, freed from the mire and the rig roars to life. They let out a cheer but the excitement is short lived when it quickly becomes obvious that May doesn't intend to stop the rig and risk getting stuck in the mud again. Raina is already pulling herself back into the cab, moving painfully slow considering that they all need to get back into the rig.

Skye glances over her shoulder, looking for Jemma and Bobbi and hoping that they hurry the hell up.

Natasha pulls herself into the back of the rig and then Akela, who turns back to grab onto Skye and help her up before Skye is even aware of what's happening. Bobbi and Jemma are running toward the rig, fighting against the suction of the swamp and the increasing speed of the war machine.

Skye leans out the side of the cab, clutching tightly to the door and holding her hand out for Jemma. Jemma finally grasps her hand, her nails digging into Skye's wrist as she tries to find purchase against the side of the rig. Finally she's up high enough for Skye to grab a handful of her dress, using that to help pull her all the way up and into the back of the rig. Bobbi scrambles up after her, grabbing the door and slamming it shut, heaving a sigh of relief.

"Are you okay?" Skye pants, looking back at Jemma.

Obviously it's a question she could be asking all of them but her eyes seem to be unable to leave Jemma's dirty face.

Jemma gives her a weak smile, nodding and offering her a thumbs-up. Skye lets out a sigh of relief, smiling as well and letting her head fall back. "Good."

Jemma rests her hand over Skye's and even though Skye knows that they're hardly out of danger she feels like she can take a few seconds just to stay here like this and enjoy a small victory.

*~*~*~*~*~* 

The light of day makes it easier to take stock of their surroundings. The mud flats claimed a number of the Immortan's rigs but not enough to convince the soldiers to give up the pursuit completely. At least they've left the muck and swamp behind, allowing May to increase the speed of the rig, sending up a cloud of sand that makes it all too easy for Whitehall's soldiers to track them across the desert. Not that they really need any help in that department. They're dogged, determined. Skye just hopes that May is even more determined than they are.

"They're getting closer." Bobbi reports after a cursory examination of the desert behind them. She combs her fingers through her windblown hair. "Can't this thing go any faster?"

May purses her lips, debating. "We can't risk damaging the engines."

"I'm sure the engines will be damaged by the soldiers when they catch us." Skye mumbles and Jemma frowns at her.

"They won't catch us." Akela says, peering out the window. "And if they do…" Her gaze shifts toward the gun that Bobbi has in her lap.

Skye keeps her mouth firmly shut so she doesn't point out the fact that there are dozens of soldiers who could slaughter each other for the chance to bring even one of them back to Whitehall and that there's only seven of them. Her heart flips in her chest at the sudden realization of how impossible their predicament is and she bites down on her bottom lip, resisting the urge to squeeze her eyes shut and curl up into a ball. Before she can grab the hatch door and secret herself away beneath the rig, Jemma rests a hand on her knee and Skye looks at her, surprised and grateful. She covers Jemma's hand with her own, trying to focus on her touch rather than the sound of the approaching rigs. Maybe things aren't as hopeless as they seem.

Maybe.

Up ahead, something is starting to rise out of the desert, shimmering in the heat and looking almost like a mirage: unstable and a figment of their desperate imaginings. Skye can only hope that it's there, that it's the pass that May has promised they would come upon. The canyon that will hopefully seal them off from the soldiers.

Unfortunately it seems unlikely that they're going to reach the high walls before they meet up with Whitehall's men.

May sets her mouth in a firm line, pulling down the gun that has been secured to the roof right above her head. "You should get below." She says evenly.

"Not again." Akela protests. "You can't just expect us to hide down there waiting to see what's going to happen."

Natasha nods her agreement. "You're good May but you can't take them all on by yourself."

May arches an eyebrow. "Sounds like a challenge."

"Maybe later." Natasha smiles for the first time since Skye has known her. And while that hasn't exactly been a long time, she still has the impression that Natasha isn't the type of person who goes around smiling at everyone. "I'd prefer to even the odds right now."

Skye is honestly surprised by the amount of weapons that have been squirreled away in the rig. It seems like May and Bobbi are pulling them free from every corner and crevice, handing out snub-nosed pistols and small crossbows with extra bolts strapped to the side. Skye looks at the gun in her hand and tries to imagine pointing it at one of the soldiers and pulling the trigger. It's surprisingly easy to envision with her heart hammering in her chest and her blood roaring in her ears.

"Save those." May says, reaching out to stop Bobbi from passing back the flares. "We'll need those for the gasoline tanks."

Bobbi sets the flares on the dashboard; there are only three of them. Three chances to ensure that the tank blows and sends the walls crumbling down behind them. Assuming that they can make it into the canyon, of course.

The rigs are growing closer, filling the air with a cacophony of sound: the roaring of engines, the war cries of the men hanging off them, the pounding of the drums to urge them on. The confrontation suddenly looks inevitable; outrunning them is no longer an option.

"Whitehall." Raina says, poking her head out of the window beside Akela's. "He's here."

She points her finger toward one of the rigs closing up beside them, marked with Whitehall's sigil. They can see the ancient warlord behind the wheel, his eyes gleaming with fire and bloodlust. When he sees them there, growing closer as the distance shrinks, he only seems more encouraged.

It's the motorbikes that reach them first, zipping up along the rig with a speed and agility that even the best of the other war rigs can't match. One of the soldiers tries to hop off the back of the bike and onto the side of the rig but May jerks the wheel sharply to the left, crashing into the bike and sending both of the men tumbling down beneath the wheels.

May reaches up, sliding back the panel on the roof and Bobbi stands, pulling their largest gun up with her. Any chance she has in getting a clear shot are quickly dashed when one of the larger vehicles crashes against the back of the rig, jostling them all forward and nearly causing Bobbi to drop the gun.

"You really need to try and go faster. Really fang it!" Natasha urges through gritted teeth as she double checks that her gun is loaded, throwing open the back door so that she can get a clearer shot. "If we can just make it to the pass…"

May doesn't say anything but the rig groans, the engine roaring as it starts picking up speed.

Skye is wedged in the middle of the bench seat in the back, feeling useless and a little trapped beside Raina and Jemma. But even from her current position, she can see the motorbikes and rigs starting to close in around them, sticking impossibly close despite May's best efforts to shake them off.

"We can't let them get in front of us!" May calls and there's the sharp crack of a gun to punctuate her words as Bobbi takes aim on the driver closest to the front of the rig.

Skye starts to turn around, to try and peer through the back window in an effort to see what's going on around them but she quickly regrets that decision as a hook embeds itself in the metal above the window, shattering the glass and piercing the metal. Jemma grabs onto Raina, pulling her down and out of the way and Raina curls her body protectively around her stomach.

The hook starts to tear through the metal, filling the air with a terrible shrieking sound that sets Skye's nerves on end. Before they can even formulate a plan to free the hook from the rig, the siding tears away, ripping a hole in the back of the cab and exposing them to the chaos outside.

There are soldiers everywhere, or so it seems. Skye thinks about the hundreds of men and boys that she's used to seeing at the Citadel, seeming to just be waiting around, desperate for a chance to prove to Whitehall that they're worthwhile. Now that they've got that chance, they're not going to let it pass without doing everything they can to seize victory.

Bobbi takes aim on one of the soldiers crawling across the top of the rig but there are three more ready to take his place, crawling across the top and the sides like spiders. She fires, hits the side of the tanker and sends a spurt of gasoline arcing out toward the sand. "Shit."

May glances out the side view mirror, gritting her teeth at the army of cars and motorbikes that she sees there. The soldiers have spears and guns and more hooks, plenty of things to grab onto the rig and take them down.

"I need another clip." Bobbi calls from the sunroof, her words nearly drowned out by the deafening sounds of the soldiers and Natasha and Akela firing their weapons. "Now!"

Jemma leans forward, digging through the bag that seemed to be bursting with ammunition the last time Skye looked. Now it already seems like its dwindling, like there's not nearly enough bullets and bolts there for all the soldiers swarming around them. Jemma quickly passes the clip up to Bobbi, picking up her crossbow and holding it tightly in her hands. It seems like it's only going to be a matter of time before the soldiers are going to be within shooting range.

Through the gaping hole in the side of the rig, Skye can see one car in particular getting closer: Whitehall's. It's impossible not to recognize his face or the face of Bakshi, sitting there beside him, his face an a picture of joy. Skye wishes that she was as thrilled to be in the middle of the firefight.

Whitehall twists his wheel, ramming the side of his car against the rig. Raina lets out a cry as she pitches to the right, grabbing for something to hold onto in order to keep herself from falling out the side of the rig. Jemma and Skye both lunge to grab onto her, holding her tightly before she can fall out completely. Her head and torso dangle out of the hole, her arm close enough to reach out and touch Whitehall's car if she had any inkling to do so.

Whitehall's eyes grow wide with panic and he jerks the wheel in the other direction, ramming into his own soldiers in his desperation to clear the rig before slamming into Raina. Skye and Jemma manage to haul her up and back into the seat and Raina looks at them with wild, feral eyes, her pupils blown with fear and gratitude.

"He still doesn't want to hurt you guys." Skye manages to say around her heaving breaths. "We can use that to our advantage."

Jemma nods but she hardly looks certain that this is a truth that they can bank on. Obviously, Skye sees her point. There's no way to guarantee that one of the soldiers won't take them out in the confusion and the excitement of battle.

Despite the number of shots that Bobbi and the others seem to be firing, there doesn't seem to be a decrease in the number of soldiers trying to get onboard the rig or block their path. In fact, there only seem to be more every time Skye looks.

"We're getting close to the pass!" May calls, looking over her shoulder. "We need to get ready to unhook the tanker."

Of course. Skye kinda forgot about that part. How are they supposed to do that in the middle of all this madness? It's not like the soldiers are going to just let them walk calmly across the back of the rig and just unhook the tankers when it's time.

"We'll do it." Natasha says, looking at Akela, who nods. "You need to cover us." She says to Skye and Jemma and even though Skye can think of a thousand other things that she'd rather do, she finds herself nodding too.

Skye and Jemma stand on opposite sides of the rig, trying to figure out a way to balance against the side and shoot a gun without falling and getting crushed by the wheels. Much easier than it sounds.

There are so many soldiers, many of them trying to make their way across the top and sides of the rig. Skye tries to keep her breathing even, her focus solely on keeping the men away from Natasha and Akela as they make their way back toward the tanker.

Whitehall's car gets closer and several soldiers seem to pour out of it, some weaving spears or brandishing guns, each attempting to board the rig.

Skye aims at one that is starting to get too close to Akela, feeling a surge of satisfaction when the bullet hits the man between the shoulders, causing him to tumble downward into the sand. She shifts her focus, aiming for another one of Whitehall's lackeys.

And then someone is grabbing her around the nape of the neck, holding onto a fistful of hair and yanking her head backward. Skye lets out a squeak of surprise, flares of pain shooting through her skull. She tries to lift her gun but a hand bats it away easily and it falls below the wheels.

"I remember you." The voice hisses into Skye's ear, gripping the twist of her hair tighter, pulling her back. Skye can just barely make out his features: Bakshi. "You feral little wretch. You'll give birth to some mighty warlords for the Immortan."

Bakshi pulls her back, trying to pull her off balance and send them both into the waiting arms of the soldiers still balancing on the back of Whitehall's rig. Skye tries to send an elbow straight into his solar plexus but he dodges easily, even hanging off the side of the war rig. He slams her against the side of the rig, knocking the breath out of her and Skye's eyes fill with tears and she gasps for breath, desperate to avoid Whitehall and his soldiers getting their hands on her.

She can see Jemma out of the corner of her eye, taking aim with the crossbow and she tries to call out to her but her lungs still feel like they're on fire. Bakshi pulls on her again, jerking her head back and Skye tries to dig her fingers into the metal of the rig, even though there's no hope of finding any purchase there. She slams her palm down as hard as she can against the roof, hoping to attract Jemma's attention.

And then, suddenly, Jemma is there, clamoring across the roof as quickly as she can without losing her balance or dropping her crossbow. She narrows her eyes, taking aim at the exposed strip of Bakshi's throat. He looks at her, eyes widening in surprise, right as she pulls the trigger.

Bakshi falls backward, his grip on Skye loosening enough so that she can kick him off her completely. Despite the bolt in his throat and the blood spurting between his fingers, Bakshi makes one final attempt at stopping himself from falling, grabbing onto Skye's ankle as he drops to the sand.

She can shake him off easily but the tug is enough to send her off balance and Skye slips, loosing her footing and falling backward. Her heart catches in her throat and her life, as brief and pathetic as it's been, seems to flash before her eyes. "Jemma!"

Jemma leaps forward, grabbing her forearm before Skye can disappear beneath the wheels. Her crossbow goes skidding across the metal, bouncing out of reach but Jemma doesn't give it a passing glance. Her eyes are on Skye alone.

Skye tries to hook her toes against the side of something, anything to help push herself back up into the rig or higher up so that Jemma can get a better hold on her but there's nothing but smooth metal, slick from oil and sweat and blood. She can feel Jemma's grip starting to loosen and she reaches upward with her other hand, desperate for purchase.

Jemma grabs her wrist, a cry of exertion escaping her lips as she pushes herself backward, digging in with her heels and trying to pull Skye upward. Together they finally manage it and Skye feels like she could weep with relief when she's finally flat on the rig again, clutching onto Jemma and the metal grating for dear life.

But they hardly have time to give into their relief or stop to catch their breath; out of the corner of her eye, Skye can see another soldier making his way toward the driver's side window, unsheathing a knife from his belt. Skye's eyes grow wide and she points, her voice caught in her throat, unable to call out.

"May!" Jemma shouts for her as the soldier reaches the window. And then, seconds later, "Bobbi!"

Bobbi whirls around at the sound of her voice, spotting the soldier instantly and firing off a shot. The bullet catches the man in the shoulder, the force of it spinning him backward and off the rig.

Skye drops back into the rig, hands trembling as she reaches for the cache of weapons lying on the floor beside Raina's feet. She feels like she's earned the right to just sat in the rig with Raina and let someone else deal with the soldiers and Whitehall and the gas pod but obviously that's not going to happen. And maybe it shouldn't; maybe she's let someone else deal with it long enough.

She reaches for a gun and then looks up, seeing Raina's face for the first time. It's drained of color, eyes tinged with panic and Skye opens her mouth to ask what, out of the dozens of things, could possibly be wrong but she turns her head instead, looking toward the driver's seat.

May still has her eyes focused on the road ahead, her jaw clinched. But her shoulders are hunched forward slightly, her face pale and forehead beaded with sweat. And she only has one hand on the wheel because the other is pressed against her side. Skye can see the long handle of a knife sticking out from between her ribs; May's fingers are already colored with her blood.

"May." Skye whispers, surprised to see the Imperator bleeding. As foolish as it seems, she hadn't even thought such a thing was possible. "You're hurt. I'll get-"

"No." May hisses, glaring in her direction. "I'm fine." And almost as though she needs to prove her point, May pulls the knife out of her side, tossing it out the window. "Focus on getting the soldiers off the rig. It's almost time to blow the gas pods and drop the rocks."

Skye opens her mouth to protest but May gives her a shove, nearly pushing her backward into Bobbi's legs. "Now!"

Quickly, Skye hurries back toward the hole in the rig, popping back up beside Jemma, handing her a gun. "May's hurt. Bad." She tells Jemma, who looks at her in fear and surprise. "We need to get the soldiers off the rig. It's almost time."

Jemma looks over her shoulder, surprised to see how close they are to the pass. For the first time it really, truly seems like it's in reach. That they're going to make it. Even with all the soldiers and Whitehall's car still butting against the rig and the sheer numbers of people still trying to bring them down.

They do their best to pick off Whitehall's men but it only seems like they're clearing space for others to try and get their taste of victory. They're going to be out of bullets soon, Skye thinks. They're going to be out of everything soon.

Shadows fall across the rig and Skye looks up, surprised. They're entering the pass; there's towers of rock and rubble on all sides, weathered and twisted stone walls that have survived everything else that has been done to the world. If they don't manage this, if they can't block the pass, then it will be easy for the Whitehall and the soldiers to trap them in and close off their escape.

"Now!" Raina calls out from the rig below. "Do it now!"

Jemma and Skye both hurriedly try to pass the message on to Akela and Natasha, praying that they can hear them over the rushing wind, the yelling, the gunfire, the carnage. And, more than that, praying that they can unhook the pods and blow them without being caught in the explosion themselves.

Everything seems to happen quickly after that point. The rig starts to shudder, lurching forward with a renewed burst of speed as it sheds the tanker, which careens backward, knocking into rigs and stone alike. Suddenly there's a burst of heat and light so intense and it drives Jemma and Skye back into the war rig, covering their faces but still feeling like it would be impossible to truly escape the heat. The intensity of it is worse than the hottest day in the desert and even in the cover of the rig, Skye can feel it searing her skin.

The pass trembles and shakes, the rocks tumbling downward, creating a wall. Just like they'd hoped. Just like they'd planned.

Bobbi stands back up, disappearing through the sunroof. "It worked! They can't get through!"

May groans, guiding the rig to a shuddering stop. She sighs, leaning forward against the steering wheel and closing her eyes.

Raina leans forward. "May…" Her hands are already sticky with blood and Skye can see a makeshift bandage wrapped around May's side, can see the bottom of Raina's torn and ragged dress.

"I'm fine." May grunts. "I just need a…a minute."

Leaving May with Raina, Skye and Jemma slip out through the hole in the side of the rig, following Bobbi out, curious to survey the damage. The dust is starting to clear, making it easier to see the towering wall made of crumbled rocks and debris. It will be nearly impossible for the soldiers to get through.

And Skye isn't sure that they're going to want to. Not with what she sees buried amongst the rubble: Whitehall's car. The Immortan himself is still behind the wheel, clutching it tightly even in death.

"He's dead." Jemma whispers, seeming to savor the words as they roll around on her tongue. "Dead."

Skye reaches for her hand, squeezing it. Before she can pull away, Jemma tightens her grip, her eyes still on the ruin of Whitehall's rig.

Bobbi takes a step forward, her focus on the canyon around them, clearly looking for someone who isn't Whitehall. Her face twists up in worry, fear, desperation as her eyes scan through the settling dust, searching.

And then Natasha and Akela materialize, haggard and limping, bloodstained but alive. Skye feels a grin spread across her face, relief flooding through her body. They did it. It actually worked.

For the first time, Skye starts to imagine what the Green Place will look like.

*~*~*~*~*~* 

May is hurt worse than she wants to let on, that quickly becomes clear soon enough. Raina's bandage soon has to be replaced with a cleaner, fresher one but even that one becomes soaked through.

Despite May's protests, she eventually acquiesces to letting someone else get behind the wheel of the rig and has to content herself with giving directions from the passenger seat. Skye tries not to stare at her constantly, to look out for subtle changes that suggest that May is getting worse, that she's growing weaker, that she's not going to make it to the Green Place. She refuses to believe that, refuses to believe that May isn't going to be the first one out of the rig when they get there, leading them into their new home.

Unfortunately it's starting to look more and more like the Green Place is nothing but a figment of May's imagination. Skye feels her mental imaginings start to slip away, replaced by sand and wasteland, salt flats and sun. There's nothing but crystalline blue sky and waves of heat shimmering in the distance.

As the days all start to blend together, the mood in the rig seems to change. A heavy uncertainty settles over them and it only grows worse as they're forced to listen to May start to wheeze, watch her grow paler, sweaty and wane.

Skye doesn't miss the fact that they're meager food supply is starting to dwindle, that they no longer leave the water hose on to drip into the sand. This is something she's used to: making a few mouthfuls of water last all day but it doesn't exactly bode well for them. Where are they going to find water way out here?

But she's starting to realize that there's a resource they have that's becoming even more precious than water. Gasoline. When that starts to dwindle and disappear, Skye has no idea what they're going to do. Without the rig, they'll never make it.

Skye's eyes fell heavy and there's a pounding in her head that comes from the heat and the sudden lack of water and the fact that she's been sitting in the cramped backseat of a car for days. Jemma's head is resting against her shoulder and the whisper of her breath against the side of her neck is oddly comforting. It's much too hot to be sitting so close together but Skye can't imagine wanting to push her away. Jemma is the only thing that still makes her want to imagine the Green Place.

Skye rests her cheek against the crown of Jemma's head, letting her eyes finally sink closed all the way, trying to figure out why she's been fighting that urge for so long. It'll be better to rest, to wake up when it times for water and a bit of bread and then to rest again. That way she doesn't have to just watch the sand pass them by, the wasteland unbroken, no matter how hard they wish to see something else.

Raina gasps and Jemma's head snaps up, bumping against Skye's. Neither of them seem to notice, their attention turning toward Raina instead. All Skye can hope to think is that it's not something with the baby. That's the last thing they need.

But Raina isn't looking down at her stomach; instead her eyes are focused ahead, straight through the windshield.

At first, Skye thinks it's a mirage. In fact, she's certain that's what it is. There's no doubt in her mind that they're going to get out of the rig and stumble over there and find nothing but sand. It seems impossible that they've finally found it, that there are trees rising out of the distance, that there are twists of green starting to emerge from the sand.

It doesn't happen all at once. It's not like a sudden surge of green in the middle of nowhere. They are scraggly trees reaching up from the sand, their branches thin and twisted by covered in leaves. And then the sand starts to sift away and browning grass takes its place, thin and brittle but grass nonetheless.

Bobbi stops the rig, unwilling to risk crushing any of the wispy strands beneath the wheels. The vehicle groans and heaves a sigh, as though it can't imagine going even another mile.

They all slide down from the rig, helping May out as well; Natasha and Akela support her between them, though there's no mistaking the sudden fire that has returned to May's eyes.

Before they can take so much as a step, a shot rings out and they freeze, clustering together, scanning for the source of the threat.

There's a figure on the horizon, barely concealed by one of the skeletal trees; the gun in her hands is easy to recognize. "Stop." Her voice is raspy, loud and clear across the expanse of the desert. "Turn back the way you came. Leave."

No one moves, even as the truth of her words settle over them. Skye looks back at the rig, unable to imagine getting back instead it. She would rather stay here and be shot and die amongst the pale green grass and the ugly trees.

May is the first to move, stepping forward, pushing away Natasha and Akela when they try to help her stand or, possibly, hold her back. May winces, pressing one hand against her side but that doesn't seem to stop her from moving forward, one shuffling step at a time.

The woman behind the tree takes aim with her gun and May just holds up a hand, lifting her chin. "I am from this place." She calls out. "I belong to the clan of the Vuvalini, of the Many Mothers."

Her words are greeted with echoing silence and the gun remains trained on her. Skye can feel Jemma tense up beside her and she moves infinitesimally closer.

And then the gun lowers and the woman sets it aside, moving forward. She's older than Skye would have first imagined, her face and skin tanned and weathered from the sun. But she seems well feed, like she's not lacking for what she needs, even if she's as wispy thin as the trees and a grass.

When she sees May, a smile stretches across her thin lips and she moves closer, reaching for the Imperator, curling a hand around the base of her neck. Their foreheads touch and May seems to relax against her.

"Welcome home." The woman whispers and her words seem meant for all of them.

*~*~*~*~*~* 

It seems impossible that this Green Place would exist among the middle of a desert, among miles and miles of wasteland but Skye has finally stopped opening her eyes and expecting everything to disappear. It seems even more improbable that it has existed this long without so many people finding out about it.

The Green Place is set in a valley, sheltered on almost all sides by towering canyon walls. There's even a stream, small and feeble, that winds its way through the center, the water shallow but clear. They have plants to eat, fruits and things that Skye couldn't have ever imagined before until she had one in her hands. The Many Mothers have made them all feel welcome, like they belong. Especially Raina. Skye is certain that she's enjoying all the attention, the pampering. There are so few children here at the Green Place.

Skye finds Jemma sitting beside the stream, soaking her feet in the bubbling water and she sits down beside her, feeling warmed by the smile on Jemma's face. "Skye," she greets, "how's May?"

"Fine." Skye assures her, allowing her toes to settle into the cool mud at the bottom of the stream. "She'll be completely healed before too much longer."

Jemma sighs, nodding. "Good." She reaches for Skye's hand and after only a moment's hesitation, Skye twines their fingers together.

Sometimes it's impossible to believe that Skye has found everything that she's ever longed for, everything that she's needed and never thought even existed out there in the wasteland. Starting with the woman sitting beside her.

And maybe later tonight, when they return back to their shared sleeping space, Skye will reach for Jemma's hand again and lace their fingers together, pulling her closer. Maybe she'll slip her arm around Jemma's waist. Maybe she'll lean in close enough to brush her lips against Jemma's, the way that she's been thinking about doing in the days since they've been at the Green Place.

Maybe. The choice is theirs.


End file.
